


Tea and Espionage

by storyforsomeone



Series: Code name Excalibur [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Backstory, Espionage, Genius!Merlin, M/M, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 07:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10485405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyforsomeone/pseuds/storyforsomeone
Summary: “You’re good.” The agent said frankly, “Very good.”“Yes.”“Modest too.”“Not really.”The agent’s lips twitched. “MI6 could use someone like you.”Prologue to 'You Only Live Twice'.





	

 

* * *

> _Date: 23/07/2016_
> 
> _Location: Ealdor youth rehabilitation prison, cell block 012_
> 
> _Mission objective: CLASSIFIED - retrieval of subject Merlin Ambrosius, also known as 'Emrys'. Observe suitability for recruitment._

* * *

After four years, two months, seventeen days and, say, three hours, of incarceration in Ealdor’s highest security juvenile prison, Merlin would have thought the prison wardens would have learned that depriving an encryptionist of their tech in no way hindered the damage they could do.

Nor did putting a lockdown on all electronic devices in the prison deter him from, say, bypassing all levels of security within the file-management system, overriding the system monitor, and replacing CCTV footage with a continuous stream of Star Trek episodes (TOS, obviously).

He was a hacker; having firewalls and ‘uncrackable encryptions’ thrown in his face was kind of a given of the job.  If anything, cracking the systems with nothing but a dismantled fire alarm and some wire gave Merlin a warm feeling of nostalgia. 

Oh, the lockdown treatment was standard procedure for any of the hundreds of troubled youths in the prison - though Merlin doubted many of them were graced with an entourage of half a dozen stony-faced wardens armed to the teeth and watching his every move. In any other circumstance it would have been comical - one skinny nineteen-year-old-boy being marched around by a squadron of fully-armoured hulking brutes. And it certainly wasn’t _Merlin’s_ knees knocking together every time one of them strayed too close.

Then again, that was to be expected for Britain’s most dangerous delinquent mastermind.

What was not the norm, though, were the two MI6 agents who had been waiting for him when the guards shoved him into one of the interrogation rooms and locked the door. 

Merlin spared the strangers a fleeting glance up and down, taking in their stances, where their eyes roamed, which hand strayed towards their poorly-concealed weapon - subconsciously deducing who would strike first, and how, and where, stripping them down individually.

He took all this in in a few seconds, and crossed his arms.  “No.”

The two men looked at each other. “I’m sorry?” the older one said.

“The answer. To your question. It’s no.”

“You haven’t even heard what we’re offering yet.”

Merlin gave a long suffering sigh, as though he was inwardly mourning the idiocy of mankind. “Let’s skip the part where we pretend you’re not special ops working for the government. I know you’re recruiting, possibly MI5, more likely MI6. You’re here to take advantage of my current predicament by offering an early release in return for some underhand job you need doing. I’m not interested.”

The younger man blinked, “but…how…”

“Please,” Merlin rolled his eyes, “Your suit is inconspicuous but of an expensive make, tailored if I’m right - your job is well-paying and requires a formal attire but you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. Could be a social worker, but then there’s the matter of the small firearm stitched into a pocket at your lower back. Not particularly child friendly of you. Both of you have a military bearing but whilst the creases on _your_ jacket,” he pointed to the older man, “and the ink on your fingers suggest an office environment, your friend’s tan lines at his wrists and the fact his watch is four hours out suggest he is a field agent, recently returned from somewhere in Eastern Europe…Turkey, perhaps?” Merlin waved his hand dismissively, “then there’s the matter of your shoes.”

“Shoes?” the agent repeated blankly.

“Sturdier than one would expect for a classic business man, ideal for more strenuous activity, but maybe you’re athletic. The soles are new but well worn - a job that requires legwork in a suit? That narrows it down quite considerably. Add in the patriotism of your cufflinks and the smudge of gunpowder on your thumb, plus the fact you’ve surveyed the room at least twice since I started speaking, and we have ourselves two agents of her majesty’s secret service. What would two MI6 agents be doing in a juvenile prison? Recruitment. Obvious.” Merlin rattled off.

Silence. The two agents stared at him, and Merlin's mouth quirked at the shell-shocked look on the men’s faces. 

“Bloody hell, they said he was smart…” the younger muttered to his companion.

Merlin flashed them a blinding smile, “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘prodigy’. And the answer is still no, gentlemen. Good day.”

He turned to leave.

“We can have you out of here in under twenty four hours.”

He paused. The words were abrupt, rushed, as though the agent was blurting them out before he could change his mind. Behind him, his companion shot him a quick look, but Merlin barely noticed.

_Freedom_. The word was like a siren call, a forgotten song he couldn’t remember the words to, only snatches of the melody. _Freedom_. All he had to do was work for the man who’d sentenced him for life. To shackle himself to  _Uther Pendragon._

“Tempting, but still no.” Merlin said. 

The agents exchanged bewildered looks. “You do realise you’re a criminal, don’t you?” the younger said a little irritably, “Has your sentence taught you nothing?”

“I don’t see how going to a youth rehabilitation centre can teach you anything beyond how to clean a toilet.”

“Young man,” the older agent was starting to sound impatient, “I’d strongly advise you to think about what it is you’re turning down…”

“Oh cut the crap” Merlin snapped, “I know how this works. You’ll get me to do your dirty work with the promise of release, only to throw me back in here when you’re done. I’ve been down this road before. I —” he swallowed, voice going hoarse, “I won’t. Not again.”

Merlin looked down at his hands. Long-fingered and callused, covered with grime. The hands of a prisoner. The hands of a programmer. _Idiots_. They could throw him in a cell and take away all his tech, and they would never understand that Merlin _was_ a weapon. Give him access to a computer, and he could bring down a nation. With MI6’s computers, there probably wasn't a system in the world he couldn't break into and run circles around before anyone noticed anything amiss. Honestly he was wasted as a prisoner.

The agents looked uncomfortable, but not deterred. “You said it yourself,” the elder continued in a reasonable tone that set Merlin’s teeth on edge. “We’re here to recruit you, not to use you. MI6 is in trouble.” 

“Your tone implies I care.”

“Oh, so it _wasn’t_ you who snuck into our systems a month ago to save MI6 from being compromised?”

Merlin stiffened. _Damn_. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let’s skip the part where we pretend you’re not the hacker who’s been defending MI6's security,” the agent said drolly, parroting Merlin’s own words back at him, “It was you who drove out the Nimueh virus, wasn’t it,  _Emrys_?”

Merlin only just restrained from flinching at the name. “What of it?”

“You’re good.” The agent said frankly, “Very good.” 

“Yes.”

“Modest too.”

“Not really.”

The agent’s lips twitched. “MI6 could use someone like you.”

Without warning, a bubble of hysteria rose up and Merlin had to fight the urge to laugh out loud.  “Let me get this straight. You came all the way here to seriously, long-term recruit me for the same secret service I was sentenced for hacking into?”

“In simple terms, yes.”

_If only they knew._ Merlin swallowed, violently suppressing the spark of magic that flared up at his words. It would not do to lose control here - with MI6 watching his every move and Uther’s presence behind every camera. He’d left that life behind a long time ago, the day Kilgharrah found him washed up half-dead on the river bank and brought him back to his keep.

That day had been the day Merlin had been given a new name, a new life. _Emrys_. A ghost in a computer, a signature buried in lines of code, a single man working in the shadows. _Emrys_. To bury that spark of magic inside of him deep, deep down, and learn how to kill a man with a few wires and a line of code rather than a whispered word. A chance to run and never look back.

Until now.

“I’m a hacker, not a soldier.” He said carefully, “What makes you think I _want_ to be shackled to an organisation I could ‘help’ just as easily from my bedroom in my pyjamas?”

“The same reason you fought a foreign virus out of our system with no apparent benefit to yourself.” The agent replied, “tell me, it wasn’t just rivalry against Nimueh which inspired your aid, was it?”

Merlin opened his mouth, and closed it. He scowled. “No contracts. I want no trace of my presence in any of your databases. This is to be kept strictly off the record.”

“Done.” The elder agent looked much too pleased with himself.

“And no suits. I am not replacing my entire wardrobe with bloody Canali and silk. That’s for field agents. And snobs.”

“Dressing code…optional. Okay.”

“And tea.”

“Tea?”

Merlin smiled, slow and wide. “Tea. Earl Grey if you don’t mind.”

Both agents looked at him blankly. “Well, I’m sure that can be arranged” one of them said at last.

“Excellent.” 

Merlin’s grin turned impish. The harsh, pale light of the cell cast his striking features in gleaming shadow, caressing the sweeping, byronic lines of his face like streaks of moonbeam on his cheekbones. His eyes were bright, deceivingly guileless, blazing sapphire.

And his voice, when he spoke, was curiously authoritative and just the tiny bit amused, as though this was the outcome he’d been playing for all along.

“When do we start?”


End file.
